Rabbit Run
by MarthaJones11
Summary: And somewhere in the winding city streets now made pure by new fallen snow, her strange savior, her dark emmanuel, cleaned dried blood off of sharpened knives.
1. Chapter 1

"Five...four...three...two...one..."

"Happy new year!"

Screams of laughter and joy filled the bar. Husbands and wives shared passionate, deep embraces, while couples that had just met hours ago kissed and clawed and grabbed at each other's faces as though the world was ending tonight and they were the only two left alive. The confetti, so meticulously placed this afternoon, came streaming down in shocks of gold and silver and blue. Lights flashed, the large televisions showed images of revelers across the globe welcoming the new year, welcoming a chance for change and for hope. Outside, snow floated down from the cloudy skies, enveloping the city in a blanket of white.

Samantha leaned on the polished mahogany of the bar countertop, smiling at the scene before her. There was something about New Years, something about the holiday that brought her back to her childhood in that small town in rural Pennsylvania, that brought memories of friends and family eating good, hearty food and drinking cheap vodka through the night. It made her feel nostalgic for the past and hopeful for the future in the same breath of cautious optimism. She turned from the counter and poured herself a double of Jack, musing over it as partiers continued to revel in the newfound year. Maybe things would be different this time around, she thought. I've almost saved enough between this and the EMT job for medical school, and Micah just started teaching down at the local high school, so we'll have that extra bit of money. She smiled and polished off the whiskey. Yes, she thought, things were looking up.

"Hey, sweetheart," called a man from the counter, snapping his fingers impatiently. "Sweetheart!"

She grimaced and turned. Samantha hated the customers on nights like tonight. The regulars, the every Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday night crowds all knew her name and knew her life. They were like a second family. But these guys who came in during games and holidays were the worst. So entitled and they had no idea how to tip. One dollar on a round of mojitos, my ass, Samantha thought. But she put on her best face and smiled at the man, and at the very drunk woman hanging off his arm.

"What can I get you?" she asked.

"Four shots of Patron," barked the customer, barley looking at her as he grabbed the woman's face for a rather ugly make out session on the bar.

Samantha nodded and turned, happy to have an excuse to ignore the scene in front of her. Pouring four shots with lightening speed, she shoved them toward the man and then nodded at the woman, who was now draped over the bar, nearly passed out.

"Hey buddy, I think she should head out. Want me to call her a cab?" she asked.

The man looked at her like she had four head.

"What the fuck you talking about? She's fine. We're heading home after these shots. Aren't we, babe?"

The man pulled the woman's head off the bar, and it was then that Samantha could see how young she was - far too young to be doing anything with the balding, middle-aged man in front of her. She sighed heavily to herself, not really wanting to get involved with anything tonight. It was now eight hours into her shift, and she was dead tired, not prepared to argue with anybody, and dying to get home to Micah and a celebratory glass of boxed wine. But still, the nearly unresponsive girl couldn't have been anymore than seventeen, and this guy clearly had some sketchy intentions. Time to start off the new year right, she thought. Not even an hour in and she was kicking someone out of the bar.

"Look, pal, why don't you leave her alone. How about you head on home and I'll take care of her." Samantha knew this guy was drunk and rearing to go - she just didn't know how ready until he reached over the bar and slapped her across the face. Gasping and holding her reddening cheek, Samantha was finally able to grab the bouncer's attention from across the bar full of loud and drunk revelers, and Gary was immediately at the man's side.

"I think it's time to go," he said, before physically dragging the screaming man through the partiers and dumping him on the street outside. Samantha could see Gary waiting until the man had walked around the block, cursing and shouting the entire time, before he walked back over to the bar.

"You alright, Sam?" he asked, his deep voice helping to calm her nerves.

She nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Shit like that happens here, you know?" Gary nodded. "Anyways, I'm headed out. Boss said I could leave at 12:30 since I came in early to help set up the decorations. I think Scott and Maria can handle this crowd now."

She stepped out of the bar and threw her apron in the back. Walking around to the front, she gently pried the now passed-out girl from the counter and half-ushered, half-dragged her to the exit. Gary followed, making sure no one bothered her on the way. Sam always liked Gary. When she first started a few years ago, he had scared her shitless with his huge muscles and deep baritone. But the first time a guy gave her any trouble, Gary was on him and had his ass out the door. From that point on, she trusted him implicitly.

"You need me to call a cab?" he asked, his voice shaking her from her thoughts.

"No," she said, shrugging into a heavy jacket and pulling a knit cap over her hair. "But can you call one her?" She nodded toward the girl who was starting to come out of the drunken stupor and muttering something about needing pizza. Gary smiled at her.

"Sure thing, Sam. You get home safe now, ok? And happy new year."

"Happy new year, Gary," she said with a smile, and then she turned out into the night.

It was cold, bitter, Gotham cold that only comes from the depths of the city. Not even midwestern winters could have prepared her for the snow and frigid temperatures of the inner parts of Gotham City. And it wasn't that she necessary liked living here - she would much prefer a farmhouse in a small town - but Gotham University was the best of the best when it came to medical schools, and Gotham General was the premier teaching hospital in the country. If she wanted to start off her career right, she was going to start it here. Of course, she didn't plan on the recession and the big crash that follows, hell, who does plan for a recession? But it meant that med school was out of reach for a few years, and Sam found herself working days as an EMT, thankfully out of Gotham General, and nights at Debris, the bar and club a few blocks from her apartment. And even more thankfully, she thought as she pulled her jacket more tightly around her shoulders, she had found Micah. Sweet, strong, passionate Micah who proposed to her after two wonderful years of dating. Yes, their lives were difficult and at times they struggled to make ends meet, but they were each other's bright spots in the dark days in Gotham. She smiled, thinking of how Micah would be waiting up for her with two glasses of wine and a quiet, celebratory night to welcome the new year.

But her thoughts were shattered as a heavy hand grabbed her arm and violently wrenched her into a nearby alley. She could hardly see, but she could smell the stiff stench of tequila on the man's breath. Immediately, she raised a knee to her attacker's groin and a hand to his nose, but her motions were quickly cut off and she found herself pinned to the brick wall, completely immobilized.

"Fucking bitch," came the man's voice, and Sam's breath caught when she heard it. "You think you can kick me out? Think you can take away my fun?"

Sam closed her eyes and counted to five - and then she screamed. She screamed until she thought her lungs would give out, and then until the man wrenched both of her fists into one hand and covered her mouth with the other. This was it, she thought, as she felt the man nudge closer to her. It happened all of the time in Gotham, but she was always smart, always alert, and she never thought it would happen to her. But she couldn't move and she couldn't scream and she closed her eyes as the fight left her.

Suddenly, the pressure of the man's body was torn away and she collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath and rubbing her sore wrists. She peered into the darkness, but she could hardly see - but she could hear, and she heard the sounds of a struggle, a short scream, and then a horrible laugh, a laugh that echoed in her ears and left her even more frightened than she had been with the drunken man. Sam urged her legs to move, but she was frozen in place by the war cry of the most feared man in Gotham, by the laugh of the Joker, and by the gaping pits of his eyes as he rose from his kill to stare at her. And then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

_Veni, veni, Emmanuel _

_Captivum solve Israel,_

_Qui gemit in exsilio,_

_privatus Dei Filio._

_Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel_

_Nascetur pro te Israel._

Her head was throbbing to the rhythm of the gentle chants floating over her closed eyes. They were so welcoming, rolling over her body with sonorous joy and anticipation for the future. They reminded Sam of home, of Advent when her father would chant in the church choir and offer supplications to God. That mourns in lonely exile here...

She remembered. She opened her eyes and sat up from the soft bed, tearing off the soft comforter that seemed oddly familiar and launching her body off the mattress. The door to the room was closed tightly, she realized with a fright and she struggled with the handled before wrenching it open and accidentally slamming the heavy door into her already aching head. She collapsed to the ground, hugging her knees and sobbing into her chest. The Joker - that was the last thing she remembered seeing. And now he had probably taken her somewhere to torture her or kill her and Micah was still waiting at home, waiting up for her and she'd never return.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Sam tensed, making herself small in the corner. The halfway-opened door creaked fully open, and she saw a tall figure filling the light that shone through the hallway.

"Sam?" came the tentative question.

She knew that voice, she realized. But that meant...

"Micah?" she responded, her voice wavering with question and relief.

"It's me, Sam," he said calmly as he rushed over to her and wrapped her in a tight embrace, his head resting gently on her hair. "It's me. You're safe, you're home and you're completely safe."

She sat against the wall like that for several more minutes as the snow fell outside of their window and the radio softly played Christmas carols to welcome the Christ child and the New Year to the godless haven that was Gotham City. She wanted to move, to sleep, to cry, but more than anything she wanted to hold Micah and to never let him go. So that's what she did, and together they formed an island in the chaos of the city, unmoving and supportive and loving. But soon the questions bubbled forth as the fog cleared, and Sam leaned away from him and forced herself to shakily stand. Strong hands supported her arms.

"You ok to walk?" he asked, his blue eyes filled with concern and seeking out her brown ones.

Sam nodded.

"Can we go out to the kitchen? I'm kind of hungry and have some questions," she said.

Micah smiled and helped her down their tiny hallway and into the even smaller kitchen. After easing her into a chair, he turned to their electric stove and cracked a few eggs into the fry pan. Sam couldn't help but smile. Micah could cook, but his repertoire was usually limited to pasta and eggs on toast, and it looked like she'd be getting the latter tonight. It didn't matter, she thought, as long as they were together and safe. Safe...were they?

"Micah," she said quietly, waiting for him to turn around from stirring the eggs. "What happened?"

He didn't say anything, but returned to stirring the eggs around the fry pan until they were just cooked. Removing two pieces of bread from the toaster, he dumped the eggs onto two plates and slid a piece of toast on each and carried the plates over to the small table. One plate for me, Sam thought, and one for him. He must not have eaten yet, either. She dumped a few squirts of hot sauce over her toast and took a small bite. It was good, she thought, but she needed answers more than ever.

"Please, Micah. I need to know how I got here."

Micah sighed and stopped eating. He laid his fork on the table and took hold of the edge, as though he was fighting to hold something back. But emotions were pouring over on both sides, and he finally gave in. His blue eyes found hers, and they were full of pain and apologies.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you, Sam," he said, his voice tight. "I could have - should have been there, I should've walked you home, should've picked you up from work. I'm terrible, I'm sorry-"

She cut him off.

"First off, Micah, you're not terrible. You're my husband, and you're the best damn man I've ever met. Second, shit happens, it's a part of life. But I need to know exactly what shit happened...please..." she trailed off, finding his eyes, pleading with all her might.

Micah nodded. He relaxed his iron grip on the table, took another bite of toast, swallowed a rather large gulp of cheap white wine, and grabbed her hands.

"If any of this gets too hard to hear, tell me."

Sam nodded. Micah sighed again and rubbed his hair - he was agitated, she could tell. He always rubbed his hair that way when he was nervous or agitated or had to speak in front of new people. It was some sort of comfort mechanism. But soon his hands found hers again and he finally relented.

"Once you had been out 20 minutes later than you thought, I started to really get worried. Thought something really bad had happened thought you...you..." his voice choked, but Sam brushed her thumb over his palm and he settled again. "Anyway. Was about to call your uncle or somebody when there was this...this pounding at the door. Went to open it and there you were just, just lying there on the floor, totally unresponsive."

He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath.

"I thought you were dead. I carrying you inside and laid you in our bed, hoping you were still with me. Found a pulse, but when I went to change your work clothes...I found.." he strayed off and swallowed hard. "I found a note pinned to your shirt. All it said was 'ice her wrists. here's my card,' and pinned to the note was a playing card...a joker."

Micah's eyes opened again, this time full of questions for her.

"Sam, do you remember what happened?"

She stared blankly at him. Of course she remembered what had happened. That bastard had attacked her, hurt her, almost violated her, and the Joker had come to her rescue. She watched him kill a man, and watched as he stood towering over her and in that moment she was sure her life was forfeit. But that was it, that was all she could remember. And piecing together her story with Micah's meant that the Joker had somehow found out where she lived, had carried her the rest of the way to her apartment, and had left her unconscious outside of their door for Micah to find. He had saved her - but why? And why did he include his card?

Sam told Micah what she remembered. Together they pieced together what had happened, and as their eggs grew cold and their wine grew warm, they talked and comforted each other as the snow continued to stream down in the darkened city streets. But the night grew long and lean, and Sam finally found herself again yearning for the comforting embrace of their bed. Micah noticed and stood quickly, scooping her off of the chair and carrying her down the hallway. When they were both safely in bed, buried against the outside cold, Micah spoke up again.

"You know we'll have to call your uncle tomorrow."

She sunk farther into the soft pillows, not wanting to think about the Joker or the police or her uncle or Gotham City any more tonight, but only wanting to fall asleep with Micah to welcome the New Year with some semblance of optimism for the coming days. But he was persistent, and she finally sighed her agreement before drifting off into a dreamless and deep sleep, and somewhere in the winding city streets now made pure by new fallen snow, her strange savior, her dark emmanuel, cleaned dried blood off of sharpened knives.


	3. Chapter 3

It was freezing in the station. The middle of January in Gotham City was never kind, but this year the temperatures had been exceptionally cold, causing school cancellations and wrecking havoc on city productivity. Sam rubbed her gloved hands together and scooted her chair closer to the space heater. Lately, most of their calls had been related to the cold; mostly older people who couldn't get out to pick up food or medications, and huge numbers of homeless who couldn't find space in the shelters and were suffering from constant hypothermia and frostbite. Things were bad, she thought, but at least her and Micah's apartment was still heated, and she wasn't scheduled to work at the bar this evening. She was looking forward to a quiet night in.

Things had been peaceful, well, the on-edge sort of peaceful where everyone was walking on eggshells and wanted to maintain some semblance of normality. Ever since New Year's, Sam and Micah had been keeping their guard up; he insisted that she go to and from work with a friend, she balked at the idea but reluctantly agreed. They changed the locks on the doors and reinforced the bars on their windows. Sam thought that they were going a bit overboard - that is, she remembered grimly, until Micah forced her to call her uncle. She sighed, remembering their conversation...

"Hi, Uncle Jim? Is this an ok time?" she held the receiver slightly away from her face, sticking out her tongue at Micah for making her do this. He smiled back, but motioned her to the phone.

"Yeah, Sam, now's good. What's up, hon?"

"Umm..well..a couple of nights ago I was walked home from work and some jackass who I had kicked out of the bar attacked me - "

"What?!" came the shout from the other line. "Sam, what happened? Are you ok? Did he...?" the voice trailed off.

Sam shook her head as though her uncle were standing in front of her and not sitting behind a big desk at the police station.

"No, no I'm fine. But he almost did...and...Uncle Jim don't get upset, ok?" She paused, but silence met her ears. She sighed and continued. "Well, the Joker came out of nowhere and killed the guy. I passed out but Micah found me outside of our apartment with the Joker's calling card on my shirt."

She forced out the last bit of the story and waited for a response.

"Sam," came the voice. "I'm sending a car for you right now. You guys still live on that street in the Narrows?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "Look, Uncle Jim there's really no need - "

"Shut up, Sam. See you in ten."

After that, the car had pulled up in front of their shitty apartment complex and drove both her and Micah downtown to the police station. Her uncle - well, the commissioner, Sam kept reminding herself - wanted to launch a full-scale investigation into what had happened. Eventually, she was able to talk him down, reminding him that he didn't need the Joker making a link between the two of them. He reluctantly agreed, but sent her home with strict orders to call if anything strange happened, and with promise of a police control throughout the night.

And life had gotten strangely back to a perverted form of normal. She went back to both jobs, and Micah went back to teaching when the schools were open. She was glad. Sitting in the fire station, joking with her EMT friends and watching crappy television calmed her down, gave her a sense of normality that had been missing.

"Hey, what happened to the channel?"

Janice's voice broke through her thoughts. She glanced up at the screen, noticing that the local news had interrupted their reality TV show. The other EMTs and firefighters came out of the kitchen and stared at the screen, waiting for some update about what was going on.

"Good afternoon," said Todd Riley, one of the anchors. "We here at the station have just received this video from the Joker, with orders to play it immediately. As always, what you are about to see and hear may disturb you."

The screen flashed away from Todd's concerned stare and to a black screen. Suddenly, the Joker's signature laugh came echoing across the inky blackness, filling the already-freezing room with chills. Sam's eyes widened, her breathing became deep and ragged. Someone rubbed her back, attempting to calm her down, but the panic had already taken over, and she was watching the scene with horrified eyes. On screen, the Joker entered, dancing around in the darkness. It was surreal and disturbing, terrifying in its horrific simplicity. Then, he spoke.

"Gooooood afternoon, ladies and gentle_men_," he hissed, his voice permeated by a deep arrogance and sick pleasure in inflicting fear. "We're going to play a little, uh..._game_...a little..._social experiment_. You see, I want something. Some_one_. A Samantha, uh, _Reid_. If you thought I forgot about you, sweetheart, you're soooo wrong."

The Joker paused, and everyone in the station turned and started at her. She knew she should get up, should run away, should scream or cry or react, but she couldn't. She was frozen, frozen to the cold seat. And then the Joker spoke again.

"Now, uh, you all _know_ that I don't make _empty threats_," he continued smugly, relishing in every word spoken. "So here's how this is gonna work. Samantha Reid, you meet meeeee where we had our first _date. _I'm sure you remember. And, uh, if you don't do this by...well let's say by fiveee, I'm gonna turn off all the heat in this city. And, uh, you can _trust_ me, Gotham. I'm a man of my _word."_

The screen went black again, and the Joker's shrieks of laughter were cut short by Todd Riley's pale and drawn face. He turned to face the camera, trying to keep his shaking voice under control.

"We now return you to your regularly scheduled programing," he said, almost incredulously, as though broadcasting messages from a manipulative madman were commonplace for him. Well, this was Gotham, after all.

Immediately, three of her friends were surrounding her. They hugged her, protected her, told her to go to the police station, that she would be safe there. Everything was a blur. She couldn't tell friend from enemy from lover from evil. It all was swirling in her mind. She tried to breath and to calm her self down, but outside the station she could hear shouts of panic and screams for her name. This was it, she thought. This is how I go down. Everything I've worked for, and this is how it ends. I deserved a normal life, a calm life. But now the Joker had stolen all of that from her, and she was going down in a blaze of freezing flame.


End file.
